


Blame It on the Quinoa

by VeraBAdler



Series: October 2019 challenges [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 12:17:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20966441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeraBAdler/pseuds/VeraBAdler
Summary: Dean Smith heads to the local natural foods store, ostensibly to pick up cheap quinoa. He picks up something much more delicious.This little fic puts me over the top: I've now passed 100,000 total words posted to AO3!!!Prompt 1: SwingPrompt 2: Crystals & Stones





	Blame It on the Quinoa

If anyone asked, Dean was prepared to blame it on the quinoa. They'd raised the price again at Whole Foods, he would say, and so he'd stopped in to comparison shop. As a cover story, it was perfect, because it wasn't even a lie, exactly. Whole Foods really had jacked the price up by almost a dollar a pound. But let's be clear: Dean Smith can afford to pay an extra dollar a pound for his quinoa. He only eats it on his cheat days, anyway. He isn't in Namaste Lit Natural Foods to pinch pennies; there's something else here that he'd like to pinch much more.

As it turns out, the time he'd put into working out his cover story was wasted; no one gives him a second look as he wanders the store. That doesn't change how conspicuous and awkward he feels, browsing an aisle full of healing crystals and stones in his Gucci drill jacket and wool jacquard pants. He spends another few minutes looking around, and he actually does put some quinoa in his basket because the price is, in fact, staggeringly low.

He rounds the corner from essential oils and is heading into homeopathics when he finally sees him – the _real_ reason Dean's in this store today. The man's attention is focused on the shelf he's methodically restocking, a furrow on his brow where he's concentrating on lining up the tiny boxes in even rows. Dean has ample time to let his eyes roam as he closes the distance between them. 

He's wearing pale gray sweatpants today, loose ones that cuff right below his knee. He's topped that with a soft-looking t-shirt in dark cranberry that boasts a collar so stretched out, it hangs off one of his shoulders. There are Birkenstocks on his feet, because _of course_ there are. The outfit is much less revealing than the tight yoga pants and cropped tank top he'd been wearing the last time they'd encountered each other, but it's just as flattering. Dean suspects that that body would look dynamite in a Hefty bag.

Dean's feet have carried him close enough now to speak. But when he tries to think of a witty conversational gambit, his mind goes aggressively blank. Not wanting to waste his chance (or his trip), he clears his throat, and offers up his most charming smile when those blue eyes turn his way.

The dazzling eyes stay neutral, though, without a flicker of recognition in them. What comes out of those delicious-looking lips is pure Generic Retail Worker Voice. “Can I help you find something, sir?”

Dean's stomach drops down through his body and lodges itself in his Ferragamo loafers. He'd thought when they'd talked after hot yoga last week that the two of them had had a connection, that there'd been a little eye-magic. How could he have misread the signals so completely?

Then the man's face changes, and his eyes light up, and he grins, and Dean has a mood swing so sudden and so absolute that it leaves him kind of dizzy. “Sorry,” he says with a little laugh. “I was stuck in work mode for a second there. Hello, Dean.”

“H-hey, Cas,” he stammers in reply, cheeks flushing with equal parts relief and attraction.

“Fancy seeing you here. What brings you into my humble little shop today, Mr. Smith?”

In sharp contrast to the impersonal tone of moments before, his voice is now lilting and flirty. Dean still can't remember how to string together a coherent sentence. “Quinoa,” he offers, hoisting his basket dumbly.

“Ah,” Cas replies. He nods and leans closer, boosting the intimacy of the conversation to an almost incendiary level. “Have you tried the freekeh?” he murmurs conspiratorially. “It's got more protein, and twice as much fiber as quinoa. Lower on the glycemic index, too. It's not gluten-free, though, if that's a concern?”

Considering the fact that Cas is talking to him about superfoods, there is no reason for Dean to be as turned on as he is right now. But they're standing so close, and Cas smells so good, and his voice is a low, sexy rumble. Dean's got a truly terrible “get freekeh with you” pun just raring to jump out of his mouth, but he chokes it back and forces himself to calm.

“I haven't tried it,” he manages eventually. “But it sounds intriguing. Would you like to get coffee sometime, and you can tell me more?”

“I have some leftover freekeh risotto in my fridge right now, actually. It's got some mushrooms and asparagus in it, I can grate a little Parmigiano Reggiano on top, it's fantastic. Maybe you could stop by this evening, bring a bottle of wine?” He looks at Dean from under his lashes, and there's no question that risotto is not the only thing he's offering tonight.

In his mind, Dean is shaking his ass and pumping his fist in triumph, but he clamps a lid on it, and keeps his external cool. “I'd like that,” he says with as much suaveness as he can muster.

Cas whips out his phone. They exchange numbers, and Cas texts him his address. “See you around 7?” he prompts sweetly.

It's Dean's turn to grin. “Can't wait.”

**Author's Note:**

> Dean Smith wastes his cheat days eating quinoa. What a fucking nerd.
> 
> Rebloggable link for this fic on tumblr is [here](https://blessyourhondahurley.tumblr.com/post/188238914906/october-9-blame-it-on-the-quinoa).


End file.
